'Wip' they called her—like the word 'whip,' but maybe short for whippet because of her speed—or like the crack of a whip and it's lash, for her intellect and wit—probably all of the above. She sat in her pew and surveyed as she did each Sunday. She took in the sermon and surveyed; and was surveyed. There were many eyes on her—all cloistered; hidden—wanting her business—to be in it....Then there were some whose business she wouldn't mind being in either....but that was her private self, and very few in these pews—very few—would know that self. Very few were qualified. The qualified made themselves known....
She was on the other side of the sanctuary from Wip. My, she was interesting. Seated there she was all elegance. Not as dark as Wip—coppery, bronzish....a beautiful metallic sheen offset perfectly by make-up and hair color. The hair, the auburn of autumn leaves...swept to one side....then the face masked by a simple veil—'hmmmm, haven't seen one of those in a long while,' Wip thought to herself. Not enough of a veil to mask that warm, generous, mouth—the full lips that glistened with a paint that complemented everything else about the stranger. Wip fought herself for control until the benediction. She would need it....
The stranger stood to make her way out....mmmmmm, the body was delicious and stylishly disguised...hinting at whatever a mind might imagine—and then, so enticingly, at nothing at all. Wip could tell that the woman was about her height; even beneath the veil, she was beautiful. Her breasts—obviously, a preoccupation of Wip's—were full, though her church attire revealed little, other than a nipple scraped hard against the coarseness of the raw silk blouse. The hips, and ass; the legs were wonderful....panties?('you need to stop, girl!' Wip told herself). The heels—were killers—Wip knew she had to know....
'Hello, you're new here....'
'Hello,' the stranger replied, 'just visiting....'
'Well, welcome. I'm Wip—just Wip....'
'I'm Aubrye....'
'Can I take you up to the main gallery for a cup of tea or coffee?'
'Umm, I'd like that....'
The two of them climbed the steps like old friends. The conversation was fairly innocuous....
For some reason it seems—who knows—the two of them found themselves in an empty parlor. They chatted until the conversation fell to Aubrye's shoes. The two were standing close enough to whisper to...to catch each other's breath and scent...to measure the heaving of each other's bosom....The shoes almost—almost—created some measured response, but as it was only between the two of them.... Then, with that exchange, within in the essence of that conversation between two women—"girl friends"—Wip did what close girl friends often do in close conversation. She touched Aubrye. She touched Aubrye in this manner...
Her hand glided innocently to Aubrye's hip....so innocently that neither hardly noticed....then it slipped.... It slipped to Aubrye's ass, and then to the crease between her cheeks—in a space that only separated her bare ass hole from Wip's hot hand by the thin tissue of her dress....
It may have been innocent—inadvertent, in the talk of heels. Aubrye's eyes flared. Her lips bared her beautiful teeth in a soft snarl that someone at a distance might have taken for a smile.... But there was no one else—not even at a distance.
In a subtle, deft move—an almost imperceptible move—Aubrye faced Wip, backing her into a corner. She glared, her mouth almost on top of Wip's.... And she said softly, hotly, 'Do you know what you're doing, Bitch? Do you know?... I've got a man with a big, sweet black cock—a heavy hung, black man....Do you know what you're doin?'... Then she pushed up against Wip...her tongue deep in Wip's mouth; her thighs insinuating themselves between Wip's... her full breasts stung by Wip's silicone nipples. Then, she spun on her heel, and strutted toward the door. Half way there, just within whisper, she turned, said again: 'You know what you doin, Bitch? I got a big cocked man.....'
The card fluttered to the table by the door....
***
Wip glanced at the card daily for a week....sniffed its fragrance, traced its embossed letters and numbers...giggled and sometimes laughed at the name—'Aubrye Cox'...of 'I got a big cocked man'—'Indeed...' Wip giggled... 'Indeed.... May come the time when even he might need some help....'
She glanced...enhaled...touched....but never dialed....
Late Saturday afternoon...she caught the phone on the third ring.... The voice was deep...husky—not unlike her own.... It began: 'So, you don't like me?....'
Wip listened....
'We have so much in common...and you so much know what I mean....'
Wip felt the dew gather at her crotch....
'I'll be in church tomorrow.... Will you?....'
Long pause....quick, shallow breaths....a sound suppressed in the back of the throat....Not Wip's....click....
***
There she was.... In church... a few pews away from Wip....calculatingly perched.... 'Amazing...' Wip thought... 'what a little planning could do....' And if Aubrye Cox was anything she was a planner....
The benediction couldn't come soon enough.... Wip couldn't get out of her pew before Aubrye was at her side.... 'Hi....' It was kind of breathless and girlish....but Wip wasn't about to be mislead....
'Hi...' Wip replied as Aubrye leaned in to peck her cheek....the perfume was heavy and musky—not too overdone—blending with all the other delicious scents that accompany a woman's preparation—her cosmetic base—beneath it all, Wip thought—she couldn't be sure—it could have just been her imagination playing with her—was the faint fragrance of pussy....
'How about we grab a bite? .... Brunch?'....Aubrye said....
'That sounds good.... Where?'...
'How about my place?.... I'm not far...'
Wip raised an eyebrow....Aubrye laughed.... 'O! Come on!....'
She linked her arm in Wip's as they exited the sanctuary....
***
Possibly, you might like to know what Sunday morning fashionistas wear to church these days?.... If we started from the ground up, you might ask how they get away with it??!!...Hussies—shameless little scamps!...heels three, four inches high! Thank god, no higher—all manner of colors.... Damned if you don't see 'em in hell.... if you don't see them in church first!
Our ladies are nothing if not refined and chic.... Yes, both Aubrye and Wip's heels border on four inches—'talons,' the French call them—but they are the epitome of style and class...and then coupled with the right ensemble, no one questions the height of the heel, they simply ask 'Where can I get that look?'...sometimes, to themselves—female and male—they ask a bit more....
Aubrye first.... A sheer, navy silk blouse inside what appeared to be a robin's egg-blue, crepe coat-dress, knee-length...hose, robin's egg-blue, with a navy seam....all ending in navy, patent-leather peep-toes...bag to match.... The hat, a wide-brimmed, felt, navy fedora with veil...broken down in all directions... Silver accessories all around....
Wip was chocolate in cream crepe....an ankle-length duster that buttoned to the knee...at the bodice, a strip of cream that suggested her shift....stockings the same color that led to soft, cream-colored, long-toed knee boots....her headgear was a cream-colored, open-crowned broad brim—snapped up in the front and along the left side like some damn musketeer...a soft cream scarf with faded rust tones was a trailing band.... Unruly, winter-wheat twists vied for attention from the crownless brim....Copper dangled from ears and wrists, entwined fingers ...and twisted round the neck and perched in that soft valley between those two gorgeous orbs....over the rims of the overly large sunglasses she donned as she exited, were the glints of her hazel lenses....
Aubrye headed for the lot and her silver Benz coupe....
Wip's ride was a cream on cream in cream Beetle convertible—top already down....
Aubrye pulled out of the lot and Wip followed....
A few blocks from the church they slid into a pleasant, tree-lined, black middle-class neighborhood of big, old houses with massive front yards, and even larger back properties....where the drives weren't obscenely long, they cut crescents in front of screened and canopied porches.... Aubrye hooked a right into a lawn-flanked semi-circle and pulled the coupe up under the carport.... Wip pulled in behind her....
Aubrye motioned her up the front steps and onto the coolness of the screened porch...and from there into an immense foyer.... With each step, Aubrye undid a button to her coat-dress so that by the time she reached an equally impressive stairwell and turned, Wip had to catch her breath....
What in church had appeared to be a rather demure outfit, might rightly be characterized as the devil's 'playsuit'.... The coat-dress swung open to reveal not only the super-sheer silk top that covered absolutely nothing, but also a tight, tight, short, short navy blue knit mini skirt that hugged every inch of Aubrye's ass and that was impossible for her to sit down in in polite company without, as the old folks used to say, 'catching cold'....
Before Wip could regain her composure, Aubrye was all in her space—her smell, her heat, her body—'Hi Babi....' she breathed as her mouth covered Wip's....
Aubrye palmed the globes of Wip's ass as she pushed her tongue deeper into her throat...the heat of her nipples radiating through the sheer silk...one knee parting the duster...raising it...and sliding up Wip's thigh...
